After Lolek was born I had about a half an hour with him. I held him, cleaned him, anointed and baptized him and kissed him. I had prepared a tiny coffin for his body and I placed him in it after I had held him as long as I could. My friend took a few pictures of him for me, so I could remember him (like I could ever forget). After half an hour and after he was safely in the coffin, I realized that I didn't feel well and that I hadn't delivered a placenta. When he was born he was attached to his umbilical cord and I had to cut it. So I knew there was a placenta and a cord that needed to be delivered - albeit small ones. Lolek's coffin was placed in the fridge on a shelf I had cleared for him (I know it sounds wrong, but its the best thing to do if you are waiting for a funeral director to come and take the baby's body for burial arrangements.) I told my friend that I hadn't delivered a placenta. Thats when I realized that I was bleeding - a LOT.
Things happened very quickly after that. With Lolek Pio anointed, baptized, and safely awaiting the funeral director my mind was able to shift to survival - and that is exactly what it needed to do because I was hemorrhaging - badly. In an instant my friend switched from concerned bestie to super-doula. She got me into my bed flat on my back. No sign of a placenta or cord. She felt my uterus. Way too soft. She mashed on it - lots more blood. Lots. By now there was blood everywhere. It was in the bathtub it was in a garbage bag we had placed over the toilet for the very purpose of collecting it (midwife trick). It was all over my bedroom - buckets, bowls, if I hadn't been feeling like passing out I would have made a Halloween joke. Doula extraordinaire called my midwife. She talked her through a few things to check. It wasnt looking good. Then my midwife instructed her to measure the blood. Yes, my dear dear friend was elbow deep in my blood. I cannot express to you the very deep humility I felt and appreciation I have for her. She measured: 1 cup, 2 cups, 3 cups, 4 cups, 5 cups, 6 cups....and there was still more. After measuring six cups the midwife cut her off. She was concerned. Still no placenta. By now I was mashing and squeezing my poor uterus - trying to keep it as firm as possible. I knew if I didn't I would quite literally bleed to death on my bed. "I think we need to call 9-11," I said. My friend agreed. She called. I mashed.
She took over mashing as I heard the sirens. Sirens. They must be worried.
The EMTs came in and God bless them, didn't barf. There were two seasoned EMTs and one newbie on the squad. I thought he was gonna pass out. "That's a lot of blood ma'am," he said, ashen. They took some vitals and did NOT look impressed. I was instructed not to move as they made a hammock out of the bedsheets and carried me into the hallway where the stretcher was. My husband was on his way home. I asked my friend's husband, who got to the house just after the ambulance did, to call him and tell him to go to the hospital. Then away we went. I was quite dizzy and very lightheaded but I was determined to keep mashing. I instructed on of the EMTS on how to "mash" on my uterus. He had never done it before. I explained that I would bleed out if he didn't. The poor newbie looked scared again. As soon as the doors closed they rolled out, sirens wailing, speeding. I figured this meant things were pretty bad. Usually the sirens don't go unless there is a real emergency. The driver didn't even slow down for the traintracks!! He just yelled "tracks" and the EMTs in the back with me held me down as we flew over them. Then they got my IVs going - one in each arm and put me on full oxygen. I was having trouble staying awake and fought it as hard as I could. I kept mashing. I could hear the EMT call in to the ER. He sounded gruff. He said a lot of code words I didn't understand but I DID hear "tachycardic" a few times and "crash cart." That was enough to give me a bit of an adrenaline rush. The ambulance sped on.
I remember at one point time sort of stood still. I was laying on the stretcher and I was praying in my mind. I was asking for strength and for God to give me courage. I kept thinking of my children. All of a sudden I "saw" Jesus. I don't exactly know how to describe it. It was in my mind but out of it. Clear as day. Jesus was on a horse. He was dressed as a Knight in Shining Armor. He was wielding a big sword and a lance and He was fighting. I distinctly recall just KNOWING that He was fighting for me. And then it was as if WHOOSH I rushed into the fast paced present again. The ambulance arrived at the hospital and the EMTs jumped out. I kept telling them I was Catholic and that I needed a priest. They were busy. They jogged me into the hospital and we took a route I had never taken before - bypassing all the desks, all the rooms and went into a special room. I found out later it was the ICU "Crash Unit." As they wheeled me in I saw 7 nurses all scrubbed up ready to pounce. One was holding the paddles of a crash cart - ready to go. It dawned on me that the reason I felt so awful was because I was in pretty bad shape. I kept mashing.
They transferred me from the stretcher to the hospital bed and POUNCE! every nurse in the room went to work. I had my clothes cut off me as someone else was putting in another IV, I was being checked all over, vitals taken, oxygen started again, the doctor appeared at my side. Laura, I am doctor so and so. We need to get your permission for a transfusion if you need one. I gave it. I didn't have a choice. Not if I wanted to live. I told him that I had a retained placenta. I kept mashing. I told the nurses they needed to mash on my stomach. They were so busy getting me prepped and waiting for me to flat line that no one heard. So I kept mashing. Eventually they let my friend back. She took over mashing for a few minutes. The doctor asked us to stop mashing to see what would happen. It wasn't pretty. Lets just say I didn't know I could "squirt" blood like that. Poor doc. He told me I could go back to mashing. Then a poor tech said he needed to do a blood draw so they could get my blood type for the transfusion. I was actually snarky and told him he could stand at the edge of the bed and catch it. He turned pale and I apologized, holding out my IV intubated arm to him. He hurried away.
Unfortunately though that last dramatic blood loss made me very woozy. I was seeing double and couldn't tell which way was up. I started to shiver all over. Uncontrollable shivering. I was going into shock. Still I kept mashing. The doctor kept calling for bags a blood. It wasn't coming so he sent a tech to "go and get it. Now!" When the tech came back they started my transfusion - using the biggest needles possible. Then they started a Potassium drip - which burns like nothing I have ever felt before - on the other arm. I kept mashing. I was still hemorrhaging Finally after what seemed like ages but was really about an hour and a half the OB on call came in. Immediately she got me set up. The nurses were trying to keep me awake and the one on "standby" with the crash cart kept moving closer. She said there was no time for a D and C to get the retained placenta, I had lost too much blood and didn't have time to get to an OR. She looked at me, "I am going to have to go in and scrape it out. It's going to hurt, but we don't have a choice." I nodded. They got me set up in a makeshift way. The nurses were afraid to move me as any movement sent my heart rate dangerously high. And God Bless her, that OB, she got the job done. We didn't even have time for pain killers.
I laid there in blinding pain and I kept thinking of the scene in Braveheart where he gets disemboweled at the end. "Freeeeeeeeeedom" I whispered into my oxygen mask, laughing at myself. Then I started shaking again. Finally, finally, after quite a bit of time, the OB was confident that she had gotten everything. She gave my uterus a good hard mash and squeeze. It hurt so badly after being mashed and scraped and pounded on all night long. Then she gave me two shots of pitocin. I could feel the blessed contractions start! FINALLY!! They hurt like heck but I was so happy to feel them that I almost didn't care. If they hurt they were working!!! I didn't have to mash anymore!! I hadn't flat-lined, and I was alive!
My husband eventually arrived and was let back to the ICU with me. I was holding my friend's hand as he walked back. I am sure from his angle it looked like a war zone. (The hospital collected buckets of blood too). I, however, was being cleaned up a bit by some nurses and had blankets piled on my to try to stop the shaking. I felt so cold! The crash cart nurse put the paddle down. She leaned over, "I can't believe you never passed out," she said, "I was watching your vitals the whole time and I am stunned I didn't need those," she referenced the paddles. "Jesus was fighting for me," I whispered. She smiled.
I stayed in the Crash Unit for a while longer as they waited for me to stabilize a bit. They did an ultrasound to make sure there was nothing left behind and gave me some more pitocin. Then they gave me some uber-painkillers. They made me feel like I was floating on the ceiling.
I spent the night on two IV drips. I didn't sleep. The Potassium burned its way through my veins making it impossible to sleep, and my legs felt funny. They hurt and then they would go numb, and then they would ache. Nope, no sleep for me.
The next day my husband went home and met the funeral director. He gave him Lolek Pio's coffin and made arrangements. Later that night he came and picked me up. I was told I need LOTS of rest and to drink and take some iron supplements. I was still on the very low blood volume side of things and needed to take my time as my body caught up with itself.
I went home and saw that my husband had cleaned up the mess. He remarked later that he couldn't believe the odor the blood had. "It smelled like Chrism" is what he said. He was expecting a foul or nauseating odor and instead, he kept insisting it smelled like chrism. "You smell like chrism too" he said to me more than once - even after I had showered! He also said he felt very strongly the presence of Padre Pio. This didn't surprise me. Two weeks before losing Lolek, Padre Pio was making it known that we were going to need him. So when I started to sense that things weren't right with the pregnancy I immediately knew who to ask for intercession! That is why Lolek's middle name is Pio. He was very near me as everything happened.
Little did I know that Padre Pio and Pope John Paul II were about to play an even bigger role in my life.... but that is for another post!
Baby Lolek Pio, I miss you and I long to hold you. I ask that you look down on us and along with your brother and sister who are also in Heaven, pray for us and for our friends and family. Amen.
